


Whispers

by TheGweninator



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alyssa Trevelyan, Body Horror, Character Death, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Here Lies the Abyss, Horror, Named Inquisitor, Nightmares, POV First Person, POV Inquisitor, Post-Here Lies the Abyss, Psychological Trauma, Sarcastic Hawke, The Nightmare Demon, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4995148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGweninator/pseuds/TheGweninator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They stride through The Fade, unprotected from its monstrous gaze. One by one, the Nightmare dissects their worst fears and lays them open, keeps them vulnerable as it readies them for the feast. And it has something special in store for The Inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> I was always disappointed that the Inquisitor never experiences their own nightmare sequence during Here Lies the Abyss. This is what I imagine things would have been like for Alyssa. It also bothers me that there's no dialogue with Cullen afterwards, since even if you're not romancing him, it seems sensible that your Inquisitor would seek his advice or at least maybe some sympathy. So I had to do a scene with the two of them trying to deal with their individual traumas.
> 
> Some liberties have been taken with in-game dialogue, largely because I either couldn't remember or couldn't find references. Some purposeful adjustments were made to Hawke's dialogue to reflect my Hawke's personality/outlook.
> 
> Trigger warnings for: Blood, gore, body horror, bones, teeth, torture, insects, and unwanted touching. (Nothing sexual, I promise) If you find any additional triggers you think I should list, please don't hesitate to let me know. This is dark and it's meant to be dark, but I want my readers to be safe above all else.

***

_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls._

_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew._

_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you._

_In my arms lies Eternity._

 

Canticle of Andraste, 14:11

 *** 

Spiders. Fingers up my back. Tiny, chitinous legs dashing through my hair. Flashes of ice. An arrow I didn’t remember firing, winking in the half-light. Screams. Crying. Curses.

Stroud and Cassandra were at the forefront, hacking through fearlings with silent, grim efficiency. Varric was beside me, humming to Bianca even though his voice broke on every other verse. Behind us, Hawke and Vivienne, hurling ice and electricity forward into the wet, sticky darkness. And then there was me, slinging arrows; draw, aim, release. Draw, aim, release.

I felt drawn, like leather stretched too tightly over a drum. Cold that had nothing to do with magic crept through my veins. Voices whispered to me that my skin was thinning and my bones were pushing, pushing, _pushing_ until they would slice my body open from the inside out. My teeth would grow, grow, _grow_ until they were cutting through my neck; I could already feel the warm blood spraying across my feet. I should lie down, stop fighting, and let my bones do their work. Such important work. Such _good_ work. My death would be quick, and my death would be righteous.

Together, we cleared out the first wave of tiny demons. My companions wore expressions of barely concealed disgust. Maker only knows what _my_ expression was.

Everything was still for a moment, then the shadows rippled, disgorging a second wave of fearlings like filth from an overfull stomach. More legs, more eyes, more fighting. Blood. Ichor. Fumes. A smell like burning flesh. A wind like rotting leaves and damp, bloated corpses. Soft weeping. Was it my voice I heard screaming in the dark? Or someone else’s? I clung to my bow.

My mind drifted outside of my body. I hovered, watching myself as I went through the motions of combat. Draw, aim, release. Muscles flaring. Heart hammering. I barely felt any of it. My fingers were bleeding. Why wasn’t I wearing any gloves? Tiny specks of my own blood sprayed against my cheek as the bowstring thrummed. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. _Bleed bleed bleed,_ it sang. _Push push push._ I listened. I bled. I pushed.

I blinked, and the moment folded back in on itself. I was inside my own body again, my eyes seeing ahead of me instead of above; back aching as I drew yet another shot. There were gloves, and no blood. My bones were still in place. I drew my tongue across my teeth, and found them still planted in my mouth. But the song was still there.

Was this what it was like when everything was real?

Cassandra buried her mace into the head of another fearling. Thirty feet away, and I still heard the crunch. “Maker take you!” She spat.

“There’s too many! We must press forward!” shouted Stroud, swinging his sword against the shadows. He looked like he was dancing, glittering Grey Warden armor reflected in the endless multitude of eyes pressing forward from the dark. I took a deep breath and buried an arrow in one of those eyes as it hovered behind him, waiting to strike him in the back. Stroud started, then nodded in gratitude.

“I would certainly not object to being away from here,” said Vivienne, pirouetting with her staff. Nearby, a spider shattered into ice, its blood and guts scattering across the floor like misshapen gems from a pouch. “Though I fear what we may find ahead of us.”

Varric snorted, edging forward as Bianca buried another bolt into the skittering horde. “Iron Lady, I expect that’s _exactly_ what we’ll find ahead of us.” No one disagreed.

A lull fell. For a moment we all just stood there, standing in place even though we knew we had to move. Belatedly I realized I was gritting my teeth to try and keep them from shoving through my jaw. Were my friends waiting for me? Shit. Of course they were. I was the Inquisitor, which meant no one moved until I said so. As if it wasn’t bad enough that it was my fault we were here in the first place.

Maybe being eaten by Corypheus’ archdemon would have been an easier fate after all.

I felt like I was suffocating, but I pushed the sensation away and forced my mouth to open. “Press forward!” I cried. “We must get away from them!”

That was all the encouragement anyone needed. None of us wanted to stay here, in the stinking dark, watching endless waves of fear skitter towards us. We sloshed onward, through the tepid, green water and up shallow, slick stairs; hoping beyond hope there was some kind of refuge ahead...or at least, an end to the onslaught.

“Ugh, why did it have to be maggots?” said Cassandra, burying a metallic boot in the shell of one of the offending creatures. “And they smell like death.”

“Maggots? I see spiders. Huge, grasping spiders.” said Hawke. I jumped a little at the sound of her voice. She was following me much more closely than I’d realized, near enough that I could feel her breath tickling the hairs on the back of my neck. She gave me an inscrutable look and flicked a glob of demon’s flesh off of my shoulder.

“And here I thought I’d never find anywhere I hated more than The Deep Roads,” grumbled Varric, burying a triplet-shot in the face of a nearby fearling. “Remind me to keep my mouth shut next time.”

Hawke laughed. “Varric, I wouldn’t recognize you with your mouth shut. We’d meet at The Hanged Man and I’d stand in the doorway, confused. _‘Who’s this silent dwarf leaning on the bar? He seems familiar, but I can’t quite place him!_ ’”

“Just giving everyone the opportunity to admire my good looks.” replied Varric, giving us both a half-hearted wink. “I’m a charitable soul.”

My head was pounding. Their joking felt like knives scraping along the inside of my skull, but I didn’t have the heart to silence them. Anything had to be better than listening to the voices which were still insisting that I lay myself down and split myself open. We made some progress, dashing forward during a lull until another wave slowed us down. Cutting the fearlings down went even faster this time. We were getting better.

A chamber appeared to our left, carved into the bizarre greenish stone of The Fade as though it had been scooped away by an enormous hand. A strange effigy stood in the center of the opening, and I felt it _pulling_ at me, like some of the memories we’d found on our way in. Anxiety coiled in my gut as I waved for us to regroup and approach. Was there another fragmented dream here? Soothing these fears surely must be a good thing, and yet I could never quite shake the knot of dread in my heart as I touched each one. These were people I was reaching out to--and yet, I had no idea whether they were alive, dead, or unborn.

Nothing here made any sense.

“Perhaps _I_ should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition,” rumbled the voice of The Nightmare, wearing Corypheus’ tones like a grotesque mask. I felt the words tremble in my bones. Everyone froze, startled and listening.

“What’s it like, living as an apostate, Vivienne?” said The Nightmare. “Do you really think you’ll reclaim your power in The Circle...at _your_ age?”

“Not one word,” snarled Vivienne, knuckles turning to mountain peaks as she gripped her staff.

The headache that had been growing since we got here flared sharply, a twisting knifepoint behind my eyes. I stifled a gasp. Everything around me went...sideways, tipping and blurring like a cup of water tumbling off of a table. I tried to call for help, but my mouth was clenched tight; teeth grinding into teeth, jaw muscles aching. _Push, push, push_ sang my bones.

 _And what have we here?_ Hissed a voice in my head. It sounded like Corypheus at first; then like my voice, but cold with malice. _Sweet little Lady Trevelyan, all grown up...does it hurt, to know you are a fraud? To know that you are forsaken?_

The world was spinning before me, wildly out of control. Blackness tinged the edges of my vision. Distantly, I heard The Nightmare speaking again, talking to Varric...no one could see me! Why could no one see me!?

_You were never Her Herald. You were a mistake. A stranger, stumbling through a door. That’s all you’ve ever been. Grasping, forgotten, insignificant. Tsk, tsk, tsk. What would they say if they could see you now?_

Everything went completely dark. I was floating in the emptiness, buoyed only by horror. Faces flashed before me. My family. The new group of hopeful recruits that had arrived last week, looking up at me like I was the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen. Hawke, her playful smile gone. Stroud. Cullen. Leliana. Josephine. They looked at me and turned away, sneering with disgust. I screamed their names silently into the void.

A bright pinprick of light ignited in my mind’s eye, pulling me through. I was a thread and it was the needle; I was being pushed and stretched and _remade_ , bone by bone, bit by bit. My legs--did I have legs?--twitched and suddenly I was on my knees, shaking and helpless on a tiny island of rock. I looked up, seeing The Fade stretch out before me. Islands upon islands, sickly green water flowing between each one, falling away into the nothingness.

And before me, on an enormous throne made of black steel...was _her_.

My guts churned as I beheld my own visage, sneering and pale, fluttering with shadows just as she had been when I’d battled the Envy Demon in Therinfal Redoubt.

Her body was different this time; no longer a pure copy of my own, but enlarged and stretched, as though the proportions of the real world world no longer applied to her. Or was I simply smaller here? Instead of mercenary’s clothing, she wore an Orlesian ball gown that was...oh, _Maker,_ it was a part of her skin; buckles and straps cutting into bones and muscle, pulsing with life as she moved. The lower half of her body was covered in black, glittering fabric that shuddered with a sound like insect wings. Long gloves enveloped her hands, stopping at her elbows, giving her a strangely elegant look. Shadows licked at her feet and ankles like flame.

And sweet Andraste, _her face._

I could see the naked hunger there, my normally dark amber eyes bright with need. A smirk twisted on her lips, pale white teeth slightly bared, and I saw...Maker, was that _red lyrium_ in her mouth? Her--my?--skin had lost its color, making the tattoo around my eyes turn a bright crimson. There was lyrium there, too, I realized; glistening in the half-light along each dotted slash. Her hair was longer than mine, grown out and wrapped tightly in one of those beautiful coiffures I had been so envious of at Vivienne’s soiree.

“Alone at last.” Her voice was like poison honey, sliding across my skin, leaving scars where it flowed. She reclined in the throne serenely, looking eerily similar to what I imagined I looked like sitting on my throne in Skyhold. “Are you ready to face your judgement, False Herald?” She asked, steepling her gloved fingers. “I am prepared to be kind if you are...repentant.”

“I will not listen to your lies, demon!” My mouth felt like it was full of sand, and I was surprised to find that I could speak at all, even if it was a struggle.

The other me tossed her head back and laughed. “You hold the council of your precious mages too dear! I am no demon, sweet girl. Surely you must know that by now?”

 _I am what waits inside you._ She was whispering right next to my ear--or was it in my head?

“No,” I snarled, pushing myself up onto my feet. “None of this is real! I revoke you!”

I balled my hands into fists. _Think of Varric’s stories,_ I told myself. _Think of Cassandra’s face when she talks about her brother. Think of Vivienne taking your measurements for her milliner. Think of..._

The other me laughed again, head tipping back as she gripped the arms of her throne. When she looked back to me, I saw pity in her eyes. “Sweet girl. You are already taking the first steps. Or don’t you see the way they hang on your every word?”

My mind flashed back to the tunnel. Glinting eyes. Hammering hearts. Bones snapping and ichor splashing. Everyone had wanted to move, wanted to run but had held their ground until I spoke.

“No,” I murmured.

She flexed her hands, and I felt the sensation of fingers trailing along my body; teasing, lingering, violating. “If you do nothing, how long before you lose them? Truth is an ugly poison. It will spread through your ranks like a plague, and they will turn from you.”

 _False Herald. Forsaken._ That voice again. So harsh. So close.

“They will...I won’t...” words were harder now, thick and heavy, winding lazily along my tongue. “Faith...faith is only true when it is tested.”

“Tch. _Faith._ You truly are a false Herald, if you forget so easily the fate Andraste suffered because of _faith._ And what of your life, hmm? Locked away in that house, surrounded by people who _expected_ instead of _knowing._ Faith has been required of you since birth; your only way forward in the dark. And where has it gotten you?”

I ground my teeth, wanting to spit out the sand and the blood that I knew was there. “My...faith...is true. I believe in the Maker. I believe.... in Andraste.”

The other me laughed. “Of course you do! And now, you are the Inquisitor! The last hope for salvation in this bruised, pathetic world. Now the time has come to gather your reward. You must _decide_ their loyalty to you, before it is too late.” She balled her hand into a fist, gripping the air like a throat. “You must _take_ what you want. Use your power.” The other me smiled, baring her teeth fully now. “I will show you.”

And then she stood.

Her dress--body?--rippled, undulating like waves lapping at a shore. The gloves which had been so elegant moments before started to grow, elongating into hideous curved talons. A new smirk crossed her features; slow and lazy and so hungry. Her expression said she had seen this scene play out a thousand times and she had relished each one.

My body went rigid as her eyes met mine. I was immobile, trapped just as surely as if she had bound my limbs with rope and chains. My heart hitched and my belly fluttered, both useless. Only my lungs and eyes seemed to work, and I got to experience the unique sensation of shaking with fear without being able to physically tremble.

_You are nothing but bones and blood and flesh..._

That voice, so close to my ears; I could practically feel her lips moving against my skin, breath hot and impatient.

_...you will **break** before the end..._

I felt invisible hands roving all over my body; pinching, scratching, pushing. I felt them over my clothes. Under my skin. In my hair. I wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but my throat was closed and my hands were as stone.

_...and they will **weep.**_

The other me had drawn herself up to her full height now, descending the steps with every footstep echoing as if it were the chop of a headsman’s axe. “You already have what you need, sweet girl,” she said, that snide smile quirking at the edges. “You need only _take._ ”

She reached the bottom of the stairs, casually waving an arm across the tops of the shadows that gathered around her feet like a fog. The dark mists parted, and I saw three familiar forms huddled against the ground.

Leliana. Josephine. Cullen.

They were little more than flesh and bone now; so skinny and sallow and broken. Their clothes were tattered and worn, covered in filth, and even though their faces were turned towards mine, none of their gazes held any life. My throat made an awful noise as I tried to scream, but was denied. Memories of seeing their forgotten, desperate forms sealed away behind the bars of Therinfal flashed before my mind’s eye. I had failed them all over again.

_They want this. They want you to use them. What are three lives weighed against the souls of all the world?_

I struggled against the invisible force holding me back, desperate to get my bow drawn, throw a knife-- _anything_ to make this horror stop.

_You’re already consuming them. And yet you have the audacity to claim friendship? False, greedy Herald. Take, take, take. Every day. A little more. Just a little more..._

The other me smiled, reaching down to cup Cullen’s face in her hand. He looked up at her with pure, blithe adoration, as though she were the only good thing in all the world. I was straining so hard now I could feel veins in my neck and head bulging. I had to get free, had to _stop_ this...

“Bring forth the sacrifice.” Her lips moved, but it was Corypheus’ voice that I heard. I felt it echoing in my bones.

And then she _split_ , like a seam ripping open, starting at her breastbone and moving down, half her body opening wide. Underneath her skin I saw the pink of muscle and blood; the gleaming white of bone; the wet sharpness of teeth. Row upon row of them, glistening in the half-light, circling down into an endless black abyss that rested in the center of her. As I watched, tiny shadows scattered from it, and with a sickening twist of my stomach, I realized they were bugs; hard-shelled little fearlings, crawling out of her and skittering to freedom on the outside of her body.

She sighed, the noise somewhere between contentedness and hunger.

Gently, oh so gently, she beckoned Cullen forward, fingers dancing lightly underneath his chin. He went without hesitation, crawling on hands and knees towards her, eyes still fixated on her face, his adulation never shifting. The other me rippled again, her body surging forth and gripping him the way a wolf would grip its prey, and I pushed so hard against my invisible prison that my vision went white.

She laughed as she consumed him, the folds of her hideous form closing clumsily around his body. She watched with amusement as his legs shuddered and twitched, before being lost to the void with the rest of him. Leliana and Josephine sat by, motionless, staring blankly at the ground beneath them. Slowly, she lowered her hand onto Leliana’s head next.

 _Oh please, Maker,_ I prayed. _Please let her be pretending. Please let her be about to strike this abomination down as I cannot..._

But Leliana just sat there, gaze flat, face empty. This was not the Spymistress I knew and admired. There were no hidden daggers waiting for a tender moment to strike. This was the empty shell this demon--my demon?--had created. The other me lifted Leliana by her neck, holding her aloft as if she were a doll.

_Don’t struggle, False Herald. This is what you already are._

“Oh...I’ve forgotten something.” That smirk again, followed by a wink that made me see stars as I strained against my restraints once more. She dropped Leliana without ceremony and reached down into the shadows covering her skirts, pushing her hand inside of them, then slowly drawing out a glittering shape. It emerged slowly, as though it were fighting her.

The shape was a sword, covered in bright red blood. Cullen’s sword.

A high-pitched whine started in my head. I watched, helpless, as she ran her clawed hand along its edge, gathering the blood-- _his_ blood--in her palm. She brought her hand to her face, delicately licking the crimson from her fingertips.

_Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered what he tastes like._

All at once, the taste of bitter metal filled my mouth, and I felt the telltale dribble down my chin as blood gushed from my lips. Mine? His? Both?

The moment folded again, and I was on my knees in the darkness, cold water soaking into my clothes. My whole body was shaking. The taste of blood was still strong in my mouth, but when I raised my hand to wipe it away, there was nothing.

Ahead of me, a row of torches blazed to life. I jumped to my feet, expecting an attack; but none came. Instead, I heard a heart-wrenching scream of pain, and the heavy, wet sound of bones breaking and blood splattering.

_Hurry, Inquisitor...they aren’t as strong as you are. Who knows how much time they have left?_

The whine in my head was reaching an even higher pitch now, but I didn’t have time to think about it. I just ran, following the screams as they increased in volume and agony. I realized it was Cassandra who was screaming--or was it Stroud? Both? No, it was Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall was dying because of me, and I could already see the hatred in Varric’s eyes as he realized how profoundly I'd failed his dearest friend. I ran harder.

The tunnel was endless, curving and stretching, icy water splashing on my shins as I sped through it. My lungs burned. My heart was beating so hard I thought it might hammer its way straight out of my chest. I could feel the presence of the other me, her ghostly fingers still brushing across my skin, her lips still whispering in my ears. _Run, Inquisitor, she hissed. Run, and maybe you can get there in time to save them._

My skin felt hot where she touched, like she was caressing me with fire. The whine was so loud now that I could hear it even over the screaming. I realized I was shivering, my legs stumbling and seizing as my body slowly gave up. And of course, the end of the tunnel was no closer now than it had ever been. What a fool I’d been. There was never any hope, never any escape. This was the Nightmare, and it was my home now. I was forsaken.

I collapsed into the cold water, hugging myself as I curled up on the floor. Someone was shouting my name, but I ignored them. All I could listen to were the screams. They were getting thinner now, weaker, and I heard the unmistakable sound of bones popping out of their proper place.

 _What a shame, sweet girl. You were so close. So close..._ the other me laughed again, a sound that rippled through me, and in my mind’s eye I saw her on her throne once again, gently beckoning sweet Josephine into the abyss inside of her. Inside of _me_.

I closed my eyes.

“Once again, Hawke is in danger again because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here.” said the Nightmare.

“Just keep talking, Smiley.” grumbled Varric in reply, making a rude gesture at the Black City where he thought Cassandra couldn’t see.

I blinked, utterly still. No one was looking at me. Had none of them truly noticed? I glanced down at myself, positive that I would find broken bones, water-stained clothing, or blood on my hands...but there was nothing. Just my armor, my empty bow, and boots caked in fearling ichor. I ran a hand experimentally over my chest and abdomen, checking for seams. Nothing. Just me. My body. My hands. My life. Even the whispers had stopped. No more bleeding, no more pushing.

I looked around at my companions, fighting the urge to hug one or all of them. Everyone looked exhausted and anxious, but they were _alive,_ and they were whole. None of it had been real.

At least...not in a physical sense. I had the nagging sensation that a great deal of what I’d witnessed had been truer than I was ready to admit.

“Perhaps it’s best if we ignore the loud, scary voice in the sky for now,” said Hawke, her easy-going tone at odds with the tension of her posture. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’d like to get out of here sometime before Satinalia.”

“An excellent suggestion, my dear,” replied Vivienne, swanning past me towards the effigy that was still pulling at me with quiet insistence. She favored me with an appraising glance as she passed. “Everything all right, darling? You look a little peaked.”

“Yes,” I lied. “I’m fine.”

 

***

 

I stumbled out of the Rift, heart hammering, bile in my throat. My hands were shaking as I lifted the Anchor and sealed the tear in the world, whispering a prayer as I worked. Behind me, I heard Hawke and the others helping each other up, armor rattling and weapons scraping. I balled my hands into fists when I was done so no one would see me trembling.

“Inquisitor!” The Grey Warden who addressed me was young, maybe no older than I was. Behind him I saw a mixture of Inquisition troops and the remnants of Adamant’s forces, their silverite armor glittering in the moonlight. I stared at their faces, unseeing. The courtyard was full of rubble, blood, and bodies; Maker, so many bodies. So many lives. Mashed flesh staring up at the stars, cold blood trickling out into the cold night air. Gone.

_Bleed bleed bleed bleed..._

I felt numb.

“Where is Ser Stroud?” pressed the young Warden, the chainmail on his boots rattling as he strode forward. Eager. Impatient. Worried.

My companions kept silent, looking to me. They suspected what the answer was, even if only Hawke knew it for sure. She was silent now, watching me, waiting to see what I'd say. Maybe she was curious how I'd phrase this particular horror, another little entry in the ongoing parade of monstrosities that this siege had become. Her eerie teal eyes were like magefire, burning a path along my skin.

“Ser Stroud gave his life so that we could escape,” I rasped. I could feel that my tongue and mouth had moved, and my throat vibrated with the sound of my words; yet it sounded like someone else was speaking. Was I even here? Was any of this real?

Of course it was real. Stroud wouldn’t be dead if this were a fantasy.

The young man fell silent, and so did everyone else within earshot. _I trained more than half of you myself,_ Stroud had said. _Do not make me kill you._ I wondered if going to the Maker’s side knowing that he hadn’t been forced to slaughter his kin had made it any easier. Assuming he had truly died, of course. Perhaps the Nightmare was simply toying with him, ripping his mind apart piece by piece while we all stood awkwardly shuffling our feet.

I thought of chitinous limbs running along my spine, and nearly opened a new Rift right then and there.

Hawke and Varric were murmuring something to each other. I focused on them, trying to calm myself before I did something foolish. Varric looked almost ready to cry with relief, as if he were witnessing a miracle just looking up at Hawke’s face. Such a change from his usual expression of practiced joviality. I wondered if I should tell him how close it had come; how fervently Hawke had fought to stay behind. To take Stroud’s place. _Rebuild the Wardens,_ she had said. The Blight had taken nearly everything from her. She knew the world didn’t need another apostate. The world needed heroes. The world needed _Wardens._

Maker help me, I had been tempted.

The young Warden was saying something again. I brought my attention back to him, trying to listen, trying to ignore the trembling that was crawling up my hands into my arms and chest.

“...Commander Clarel and Ser Stroud both d-dead...” the young man swallowed hard. “...and Adamant destroyed; who will lead us? Are we to join the Inquisition?” His eyes were like fingers clawing at my heart. “Please, Herald.”

My gaze found another dead body, lying only feet away. Face down in the dirt, blood trickling from her ears. Burns down her side. Broken arm still gripping a sword. I imagined the Nightmare growing fat off her fear as she died, slowly crawling along the ground and praying for either salvation or a quick end. Perhaps both.

False Herald I may be, but I would go to the Void before I let Corypheus use anyone like this again.

“The Wardens serve the Inquisition now,” I declared, raising my marked hand. I heard several gasps and whispers of _Maker_ rippling through the crowd. “You have betrayed your oaths. You have betrayed the Maker. But you were misled. I know that good still survives within you. Ser Stroud’s sacrifice proved this. I am giving you a chance to redeem yourselves, to live up to your creed as true Grey Wardens. Atone for your mistakes, and stand with me to defeat Corypheus!”

A cheer went up, though I noticed many of our forces did not carry it. Several of the Wardens we’d spared fell to their knees, alternately saluting me or closing their eyes in silent prayer. The young man in front of me was one of the former, saluting me crisply. “We will not fail you, Herald. Please, excuse me while I spread the word of your decision.” He bowed, and I gave him a tired nod of dismissal.

No sooner had he gone than Cassandra appeared at my side, looking at me as though I had just spit in her face. “After all they’ve done? You let them just...walk away?”

Vivienne was with her, looking equally disappointed. “Are we to throw Grey Wardens at the demons now, my dear? Wouldn’t rocks be more effective?”

I ground my teeth, biting back the anger that threatened to overrun. Were they both truly so eager for more pain in the world? After what we had seen? “I have made my decision,” I growled. Both women shook their heads and walked away.

For a brief moment, I was alone in the crowd. Everyone was moving quickly now, tending to the injured and trying to make sense of the chaos we had caused. Somewhere in the distance I could hear Erimond’s voice, whining and keening and threatening. Passing judgement on him would be satisfying, I thought. Or perhaps it would be yet another useless death in a string of useless deaths. Perhaps that would even be what he wanted.

The wind changed, and I caught the sound of a familiar voice. I glanced up at the battlements. Sword bared, armor gleaming. Black feathers and burgundy cloth, silhouetted by moonlight. Cullen. I’d know the shape of him anywhere. As soon as I recognized him, a wave of nausea hit me, so strong I nearly doubled over on the cobblestones right then and there. He had his back to me, but I could hear the urgency in his voice, as if he were rushing somewhere. I prayed it wasn’t anywhere near me.

_This is what you already are._

I looked away, breath ragged, clinging to the folds of leather framing my chestplate. Everything felt too tight, like my armor was trying to squeeze the air straight out of my lungs. How could I ever face him again, knowing what I had done? What lay inside me? No. I had to move, had to get away from here before he found me.

My course decided, I turned, and saw Hawke standing in front of me. Shit. Had she been there all along? For the first time since I’d met her, she looked genuinely _tired,_ as though she had finally run out of witticisms to keep her apart from the horrors we had just faced. Despite this, she was watching me intently, strands of orange-red hair slick with sweat framing the sides of her pale face. Varric hovered behind her, glancing between the two of us as if trying to settle a bet.

“What are you going to tell them?” Hawke asked, leaning on her staff.

“About what?”

“The memories.”

I clenched my already-sore hands into fists again, riding the wave of pain to keep from shuddering. _You are forsaken,_ whispered a voice in my head. “The truth,” I said at last.

Hawke shook her head. “Take it from someone who enjoys handling the truth like it’s a friend who’s too drunk to see straight--being honest here is only going to cause more suffering.”

I bristled. “My people deserve to know what happened.”

“Your people have already decided what happened. Don’t take that away from them.”

I bit my lip, unsure what to say. She was probably right, but admitting it burned. Somehow, there was a vast difference between _wondering_ what had happened at the Conclave and _knowing._ I glanced at Varric, but he just shrugged. Of course. Hawke could say the sky was made from nugskin and he’d act like it was written in the Chant.

Hawke sighed, pushing off her staff and giving me a little half-bow. “You’ll make the right choice, Inquisitor. From what I’ve seen, you generally do. Oh, and don’t worry--I won’t tell anyone what you look like covered in demon slime.” She winked at me, and grinned. Maker’s breath, was she _flirting?_ Now, of all times? My life had to be some kind of sick joke.

“Let’s go, Varric,” she said, turning on her heel as casually as if we’d been back at the Rest. “Surely someone around here has a drink we can steal.”

“Just like old times,” said Varric. He smiled at me. “Join us, Inquisitor. You look like you could use one. Or three.”

I shook my head. “Not now. I should see to the fortifications and handle the reports.” In truth, what I really wanted was to do was find a quiet corner and _sleep,_ but that seemed unlikely. At this point, I wasn’t even sure if I could.

Varric looked at me for a moment, and I had the distinct impression he was struggling with something. I braced myself, expecting the worst. Was he going to repeat what Hawke had said? Take me to task for sparing the Wardens? Tell me how I’d disappointed him by not really being a herald after all?

But instead just gave me a little smile and a nod, seeming to think better of himself, before turning and following after Hawke.

Getting out of the courtyard now felt as essential as breathing. Some tangled part of my mind told me that if I could put some distance between myself and this awful place, I could put off the inevitable. I started walking deeper into Adamant, not caring where my steps took me so long as it wasn’t here. My progress went largely unremarked. People were rushing everywhere, barking orders and confirming commands. I saw healers and surgeons darting through the growing crowd, their leathers blood-spattered and their eyes exhausted, a crew of Inquisition soldiers following behind them to gather up the ones they couldn’t save. As I left, I caught a glimpse of the dead woman with the broken arm being lifted away, her blood still seeping between the stones.

Maker, I was tired. Everything felt so unreal. Was I even here, or was this just another Fade vision? Maybe if I just kept my thoughts small and quiet, no one would notice me. How desperately I wanted no one to notice me. I thought of throwing a bit of powder and disappearing into the shadows; but as tempting as that was, I couldn’t work up the energy to reach into my pack.

I rubbed the back of my neck, carefully navigating a set of stairs. I could feel a headache forming. I knew I what I should be doing, and who I should be talking to right now, but the thought of facing him was like dipping my hand in fire. Would he even speak to me anymore, once he knew what had happened?

And just how much I should tell him? Not the...vision...I had had, certainly. But fighting the Nightmare would have to be mentioned. We’d lost Stroud, after all, and he would need to know why. I found myself up on one of the battlements we’d cleared before confronting Warden Commander Clarel. Parts of it were still smoking, but the breeze made me feel a little better. I also needed to tell Leliana what the spirit of the Divine had said. And if one advisor knew of Most Holy’s...manifestation? Echo? Whatever it was, it was only fair they all know. Which meant explaining the memories, and the Conclave. Maker have mercy on me.

Maybe Hawke was right. The truth was just a traitorous drunk at a tavern I should step over on my way out the door.

“Inquisitor!”

Ah, so that’s where he’d been rushing to.

I turned, confronted with a group of Inquisition soldiers, led by a flushed and exhausted looking Commander. There was blood and sweat in his hair, and even more blood and demon ichor on his armor and the sword he still held openly at his side. He looked like he’d been running flat-out just to get to me, and so did the soldiers behind him. Our eyes met and I saw something in his expression soften, though Maker only knows what my face looked like. Seeing him up-close sent me into fresh turmoil, my stomach twisting and knotting beneath my flesh. He moved closer, smelling like smoke and metal and death.

“Commander,” I said, trying not to grit my teeth so obviously. I could feel myself start shaking again. _You need only take._

“You’re...” Cullen’s fingers flexed around the hilt of his sword. The unspoken word _alive_ hung in the air between us, with even more words left unsaid behind it. The obvious relief on his face made me want to scream.

I swallowed, forcing the panic down. “I am. For better or for worse.” He frowned a little at that, and I could already see the questions forming. _What happened? Are you all right? Are you hurt?_ I fought back another wave of nausea. Yes. Maker, yes. I’m bleeding from places I didn’t even know I had, and no amount of healing magic will ever make it right.

But he would only hate me if he knew. Or maybe he wouldn’t; I wasn’t sure which was worse. “We lost Ser Stroud,” I said, artlessly changing subjects to cut him off. The words were bitter in my mouth, as if somehow saying Stroud had been “lost” could ever be an accurate representation of what had happened.

One of the soldiers gasped. Even Cullen pulled back a little, surprise and disappointment mingling in his expression before disappearing behind his usual mask of professionalism. “I’m sure you did all you could,” he said.

The short, bitter laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Oh, yes. I don’t doubt that it was a magnificent sight. The so-called Herald of Andraste bravely letting a good man die so she could escape from a demon. Have to save her hide, after all. She’s important! So important she let an entire order of heroes nearly hurl themselves into the Void and summon a living nightmare because _no one was paying any **fucking attention!**_ ”

The soldiers stared, frozen. I think they would have been less shocked had I burst into flame. Cullen looked utterly stricken, so much so that I reflexively glanced at my hands to make sure I had not physically touched him. But no, there they were at my sides, trembling openly. So was the rest of me. I was shaking in earnest now, completely unable to control myself.

_Tsk, tsk, tsk._

Cullen turned on the soldiers. “Leave us,” he snarled. They wasted no time in obeying, a couple of them tripping over their own feet in their haste to get away.

I watched them run, wanting to vomit, or scream, or tear something apart with my bare hands. I wanted to drown myself in blood just to block out the words. Where was Cole when I needed him? Maker, I needed something. Someone. _Anything,_ to drown out this noise.

“It’s my fault,” I whispered at their backs, making some kind of strangled sound that was meant to be more laughter. I stared at my hands. “It’s all my fault, but they still worship me. Fools. If I was real, then I would have known.” I was babbling now, but I didn’t care. “The signs were all there. Why weren’t we faster?”

A shadow fell over me, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Cullen moving to shield me from any further curious stares. He was so close now that I could feel the warmth of his body on my skin. “Inquisitor, whatever you heard, whatever you saw...”

“You don’t want to know what I’ve seen, Commander,” I snapped. I meant it.

“...be that as it may, it’s a part of you now. You can’t run from it or block it out, no matter how much you might wish to.”

I thought of the look on his face as the other me had beckoned him into the abyss of her cruelty; thought of the pure adoration in his eyes as he crawled to his doom. Was that to be our fate someday? Was I destined to be his destruction? I stared down at the blood on his sword, still held at his side, and couldn’t stop myself from imagining it was his own.

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” I said.

“Don’t be. The more you fear it, the more it controls you.” I heard him sigh, a frustrated and bitter sound. “Trust me.”

I should just walk away, keep it all to myself. Snap at him to keep him at a distance, stomp away and tell myself he’d deserved it for prying. Everyone would be safer and happier that way. I could go somewhere, maybe get a drink, some sleep, some food; get myself under control. No one need ever know. I’d give my report later, just the essential overview. Nothing they wouldn’t get from Cassandra, or Vivienne if pressed. Varric would lie, of course, so no one would ever ask him. None of them had seen what I’d seen, anyway. No details. No mess. No burdens for anyone but me to bear.

And then I looked at him. I shouldn’t have. I should have just walked away. But there he was, and the look in his eyes said he was already sharing this burden whether I lied to him or not. There was no stopping him, because Maker help me, he _cared,_ and shutting him out was only going to make him try harder. Gorgeous, stubborn bastard.

“You _died,_ ” I whispered, so soft and terrified that someone might hear. The taste of blood burned on my tongue. “I killed you.” The word seemed so inadequate. What had happened to him had been a horror.

“I’ve killed you, too.” said Cullen.

Oh. Wait, what? I stared at him. “You...?”

Now he was the one setting his teeth, jaw working back and forth furiously as he ground out the words. “Sometimes, in my...my dreams. It’s not...I don’t...” Cullen looked away briefly, glaring a hole into the ground. “It’s not something I choose. It’s been worse ever since Haven. There are days I wake up in a pool of my own sweat, thinking it’s blood. And sometimes there are...other things...that I do not wish to speak of.”

Maker help me, I just kept staring. I felt like such a fool. He was always so in control that it became easy to forget what he’d been through. And here I was, acting like he’d hate me for the same? It should have been a Pride demon in that vision.

Cullen shifted, glaring down at his sword as if its presence suddenly made him uncomfortable. “My point is, just because you experience something monstrous doesn’t mean that’s who you are,” he continued. His face was calmer now, and I wondered if his admission had been some kind of relief. “You are not a monster, Alyssa.”

I flexed my hands, realizing that I’d stopped shaking. Isolating myself had been what _she_ had wanted all along, wasn’t it? Perhaps doing the opposite was the only true way forward. And perhaps that was what Hawke had really meant, when she’d lectured me about the truth. Wounding myself over and over with my own truths was just as useless as forcing them on others. I still felt sick, and tired, and _hollow;_ there was no doubt the Nightmare had made its mark upon me. But that didn’t mean I had deserved it. Nor did it mean that I had to bear everything alone. And maybe...maybe that was all right.

Tentatively, I reached out and took Cullen’s hand. This time, my body did not revolt, and the whispers of my mind were silent. “Nor are you, Commander.” I said, squeezing his hand gently. For the first time since exiting the Fade, I felt the beginnings of a smile on my face. “Nor are you.”

 


End file.
